Is this Madness?
by Love2Read4321
Summary: Cloud is thrust into a vortex of confusion. What parts of this world are real and what is but a fragmentation of his mind?


He never liked the word 'anniversary'. It may be so because it sounded like a grand social event, but this was not a celebration. It was a sombre gathering of his friends to mark another year of her death. They would plant flowers in the iridescent sunlight of the old church and say a little prayer. After several years of this gruelling ritual, Cloud grew tired of it. The whisperings of sobs and comforting words appeared to him, aloof. Feigned. The annual custom to mark her death was not heartfelt. The melodies of life had died a long time ago when she drew her last breath as she was submerged into the lake. How could he enjoy all the small little moments that make life so beautiful while the only reason to live had withered away?

Others would mock him for his obstinate demeanour or uncouth personality. He did not care. In fact he immersed himself into art, day and night. He took a fervid and burning pleasure in this task. His philosophies and beliefs, deceits caught forever in a single brushstroke. His whole collection of extraneous work was telling but one specific story. Cloud stared intently at yet another painting of her. It was a mere head and shoulders portrait. The arms, the bosom and even the ends of the radiant, auburn hair melted imperceptibly into the vague shadow which formed the background. It was clear that the essence of the work percolates past the rough canvas and catches life. The execution of the work, the immortal beauty of countenance…it all depicted a woman of rarest beauty.

Thin rays of moonlight penetrated through the curtain and added an eerie majesty as they bounced off the hexagonally shaped enclosure of frames. Bizarre; Cloud distinguished a slight sound besides that of his own breathing. It surrounded the room. A supernatural sheen seemed to hover beyond each frame of artwork. Cloud stepped in front of one which seemed to be the source of the music. It was the portrait he was examining prior to the unexpected occurrence. The melody turned to a more gloomy tone and high pitched chimes seemed to tremble all around the room. The atmosphere was unpleasant. He clasped his hands over his ears, pleading for it all to stop. It was when a figure moved across the room that caused the music to stop. He froze with fear. All was still. The figure was a haze, lightly sparkling in the darkness, taking loosely human shape though undistinguishable as to whether male or female. The figure gestured for him to follow and he did, as if in a trance.

Memory slipped away, just within grasp. He had entered a whole different reality veiled away from him. He was falling into oblivion and the figure which had lured him to join this world was dissipating into nothingness. The bliss feeling of falling met an abrupt end when he landed in a capacious field of flowers. It was a picturesque scene with magnificent mountains far in the distance. The weight of woes that had oppressed him was no longer aggravating. The smell of familiar flowers filled his nostrils and he turned quickly because he knew in that instant _she was there_. His vision riveted upon her figure in the distance. Aerith. Her presence was comforting and as he stepped towards her he devoured every second with greed. This was not like that of his portraits. She was alive and moving! The lineaments of her face were irradiated, her beam of benevolence and sweetness was like honey and the delicate glance of her celestial eyes was enough to imbue Cloud with a fervent longing to hold her. He looked upon her as his, his only, his to protect, love and cherish.

But even that one moment of bliss was ephemeral.

Every step towards Aerith was becoming an excruciating exertion. It was difficult to understand because he felt as if the earth's magnetic force itself and the weight of the soil were both forcing him down, as if he was being sucked into the ground. He gnashed his teeth in frustration, uttered a groan and called out her name, helpless by his situation. She was oblivious to his presence and just smiled in the distance, unaware of his aching cry and unaware of the one winged angel that emerged from behind her. A mirthless grin spread across the contorted, ugly face of the murderer. It was indeed a paradox; he was no angel but rather an object of sacrilege. Cloud's pulse was beating quickly, faster and harder. He could feel the palpitation of every artery as he envisioned the morbid scene of what was to happen next. He could taste blood in his mouth and feel his stomach churn and watch as Sephiroth raised his sword. And that was all. The scene was enveloped in an impenetrable darkness.

It was as if he was blind. His feelings of misery and the whirlwind passions of his soul could not seek refuge from the intolerable sensations. Solitude was his only relief; deep, dark and deathlike solitude. He felt like a wounded deer, dragging its fainting limbs only to fall, and then gaze upon the arrow which had pierced it, and to die.

"Are you giving way to death so easily?" The music of her sweet voice was so familiar and dear to him. It poured a torrent of light into his dark world.

He was lying in the flower field, the same as before. It was a second chance but this time she was sitting beside him as he lay among the flowers. Even as she spoke he drew near to her, as if in terror, lest in that very moment the destroyer had been near to rob her of him. He scrutinized her glossy, luxuriant and naturally curling locks, her soft voluptuous lips, the hue of her eyes was the most pure of green and hung over them were jet black lashes of great length. He failed to fathom her expression but he did not care because she was there with him, and she was so beautiful. He was lost in her eyes that blazed with glorious effulgence.

Cloud could not control his emotions as tears trickled down his cheeks. He could not but prognosticate the worst event. As he imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with the hue of death. Death appeared to be inevitable. Her fingers became the transparent waxen hue of a grave. It was a pitiable spectacle.

"You did not save me." Her voice had dwindled to a whisper and blood slowly streamed from her mouth, dripping down her chin. She coughed vehemently. Cloud stepped away, lost in a haze of horror and wonder. The air had become insalubrious and the heavens were clouded, vivid flashes of lightning dazzled his eyes, illuminating Aerith's figure as she fell to the ground writhing in pain.

His sorrow will never alleviate and it must have reached a pinnacle as a piercing force pinned his shoulder and threw him across the field. How could this be a dream? He was on the verge of death, his shoulder was wounded and the pain was agonizing. Cloud faced his attacker, Sephiroth, who stood tall beside a dying Aerith. A ghastly grin wrinkled his lips, the countenance expressed malice and barbarity. Cloud could not fight. The dauntless courage he once had vanished a long time ago.

"Raise your sword, you incompetent puppet." Sephiroth mocked in his low, callous voice. Cloud felt his heart throb in the sickness of fear. His legs trembled, every second that past felt like eternity. Scavengers had already landed beside Aerith's motionless body. He was too late. The scene was morbid. They pecked at her flesh, blood gushed out from freshly opened wounds. Her dazzling eyes, the lips that once emitted a mellifluous sound, everything was, one by one, tattered into shreds. Even a second chance was not good enough. He bore a hell within him which nothing could extinguish. The brave warrior who once fought for Midgar was just a memory. His opponent glowered at him. The shame of it all was too much. He had no choice but to submit.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The waves came crashing in around him. Cloud scrambled to reach a surface but was crushed by another wave, submerged and tumbling, spinning, dizzy. He trashed his arms in the water, trying to keep himself above it. It was hopeless. The fruitless attempts rendered him exhausted. He could see immense mountains and precipices above him which defined a power mighty as Omnipotence. He watched the pallid flashes of lightning that played above the mountains. The source of light that stole over the heavens gave him a sense of pleasure, it was enlightening, comforting.

He drifted further and deeper into the unknown waters. It sent a chill up his spine. His clothes were heavy weights, dragging him down an endless sea of darkness. The freezing liquid seeped into this body. His memory had failed him. How did he end up here? What decisions led him to this utopia? He could hear the ocean roar above him as he descended for the final time in an agony that must have been death.


End file.
